Page 65 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
The boy looked back, then kept running, his legs flying behind him.
Tristan muttered, half to himself, “Why do I even bother?”
Eliza pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. “Because you enjoy giving orders, perhaps?”
He looked at her, one brow still raised. “I shall try not to take offense at that.”
“Please do,” she said lightly.
His gaze moved again, scanning the room. Then he straightened. “Excuse me a moment. That is Lord Graham near the wall. If I do not speak to him, he will think I have snubbed him.”
Eliza smiled. “I am certain everyone already thinks that.”
He gave her a pointed look, though she could see the hint of humor behind it. “Do not worry. It is your day. You can be as merciless as you want.”
“You were the one who married me,” she replied.
“I shall never live it down,” he said, his tone dry, before moving away toward Lord Graham.
Eliza watched him go, her smile fading slowly. Once his tall figure was lost among the guests, she allowed her eyes to wander across the crowded room.
She noticed a few noblemen she had yet to meet but knew she would as she continued to move in Tristan’s world. Her eyes caught Marcus sitting at a table with a few more men she didn’t recognize.
He leaned back in his chair, speaking with two lords, a glass of wine in hand. His laughter was loud.
Much too loud.
And his expression smug, in that way she knew too well. Her chest tightened as she crossed the floor with steady steps. When she reached the table, she greeted the men politely, then looked straight at her brother.
“Might I have a moment with Mr. Harwood?”
The men glanced at one another, surprised, but rose from their seats with murmured excuses. Marcus’s glare darkened.
“Please forgive me!” she murmured behind them as they all left.
“What do you want?” Marcus said through clenched teeth.
“You will know,” she answered calmly, “if you come with me.”
His jaw worked almost like he wanted to refuse, but after a pause, he stood, pushing back his chair. He followed her out into the hallway, and the doors closed behind them, muting the music.
Eliza turned, fixing him with a steady gaze. “What are you up to?”
Marcus feigned confusion. “What do you mean?”
“This new venture of yours. What are you trying to drag my husband into?”
He gave a sharp laugh. “Your husband? Need I remind you who got you that husband in the first place?”
Her eyes narrowed. “That is not what I am speaking of, and you know it. I know you, Marcus. You always have something hidden up your sleeve, and it never ends well. I would very much prefer you not involve Tristan in it.”
Marcus leaned closer, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “Since when did you grow so possessive? You sound almost fond of him.”
“That is none of your concern,” she shot back.
“My dear sister,” he drawled, “I have a project that could make us all richer. If your husband wishes to invest, who am I to stop him?”
Her teeth ground together, her chest burning. She wanted to strike him and tear that stupid smirk from his face, but she stood still.
